


Soothsayer

by archaeologist_d



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Attempt at Humor, Gay Sex, Historical Inaccuracy, Humor, M/M, Magic, Male Slash, Merlin is a Little Shit, Not Canon Compliant, Roman Britain, Romance, Sexual Humor, Sexy Times, soothsayer - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-30 02:36:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19033024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archaeologist_d/pseuds/archaeologist_d
Summary: Artorius wasn’t in the mood for a smelly sheep herder to give him a hard time.





	Soothsayer

Tribune Artorius Ambrosius didn’t look up as the scrawny boy was shoved into his tent. Movement of the Silures had harried his legion’s troops for a fortnight, and his uncle sitting at the right hand of Caesar would not be best pleased if his nephew shamed him. But waiting for the Celts or rather the rebellious subjects of Rome to kneel before the might of his forces was growing tedious. He needed information, he needed a winning hand. He needed a drink.

Annoyed with what the Fates had handed him, oh for the warmth and soft breezes of Ostia, Artorius had grown sloppy. So it was a bit of a surprise to find the smell of sheep teasing his nose as the prisoner started toward him, iron cuffs rattling hard.

There were curses in some indescribable barbarian tongue that was an affront to every civilized Roman, and the boy shoving his hands at Artorius. Not to be outdone - he really didn’t have time for this, Artorius stood up, slapping the prisoner’s hands aside, then sweeping his foot around the back of the boy’s leg, pushed him hard and watched as he fell into the dirt at Artorius’s feet.

It would have been laughable watching some sheep herder rage at him, but even as the boy tried to struggle to rise, he was kicking at Artorius’s legs, and looking highly affronted. The iron chain was rattling, too, a curious counterpoint to the ferocious sounds, curses or obscenities that Artorius wasn’t sure about, but it didn’t sound as if pleasantries were coming out of the boy’s mouth.

Artorius had had enough. Just as the boy stood up, shouting at him, Artorius gave an annoyed grunt, then swept at the boy’s feet again. That scrawny fool hit the ground with a hard thump, and then Artorius sat on him, capturing his wrists and shoving them and the iron cuffs into the dirt over his head.

Ignoring the hip thrusts upward and the way the prisoner kept twisting to get away, Artorius said, “I will let you up if you behave. Otherwise, I will give you over to my men and we’ll see how well you do with them. They’ve not seen a woman in a while and a boy will do just as well.”

Something must have gotten through. The boy suddenly stilled, eyes going wide, then narrowing, as he said, in perfect Latin, “You wouldn’t dare.”

Artorius laughed. “So you do understand me.” He leaned down, pressing hard, feeling the bones of the boy’s wrists shifting a little. “And what use are you to me that I wouldn’t whore you out. You are pretty enough under all that sheep dung.”

“You arse, I’m Myrddin.” The boy gave another useless shove upward, then lay there panting.

He said it as if Artorius should know and be wonderstruck, but Artorius was tired and not a little annoyed. “So, Myrddin, are you my bedwarmer for the night?” When Myrddin just glared up at him, sputtering barbaric curses again, Artorius said, “While you do have certain charms and I’m sure you would clean up with a good dunking and a bit of a scrub, I really don’t want to end up with a knife in my chest.”

Glaring up at Artorius, he said, slowly, distinctly, looking as if he was ready to kill him, “I… am… Myrddin…, your… soothsayer. You arse.”

Scowling down at him, Artorius said, “You don’t look like a soothsayer. Where’s your beard and pointy hat?”

“How you survived this long is beyond me. You are unbelievable.” Myrddin narrowed his eyes. “I am in disguise, dollophead.” And then he let out another string of gibberish that was clearly not Latin.  

It was always possible that this Myrddin was telling the truth. His uncle had said something about a sorcerer or soothsayer being sent to Artorius, but the only ones Artorius knew of were old and always spouting off nonsense.

It might even be true. Stranger things have happened in the cold wasteland that was Britannia.

Knowing that he could take Myrddin down with one blow, no matter if he were a soothsayer or traitor or unwashed peasant, he climbed off and jerked Myrddin to his feet. Surprisingly, the idiot was as tall as Artorius, and not unpleasing to the eye, either. Almost pretty and although Myrddin’s mouth had been spouting filth since he arrived, it was wet and red and perfectly formed for other purposes, more pleasurable purposes.

Never mind that he hadn’t had any in months, or that Myrddin was his type, with pale limbs and fury in his eyes. Artorius thought he might be a hellcat in bed, too, with everything that he’d seen so far. He’d love to find out, but he had more important things to deal with than fucking an unwashed peasant, no matter how long it had been.

Folding his arms across his chest, Artorius stood there, his gaze slow and deliberate and mocking as he said, “Why would I believe you? Other than your obvious talent for babbling, I’ve seen no evidence of skill.”

“Your idiot troops put me in iron.” Myrddin rattled his chains. “Get them off me and I’ll show you what I can do.”

Artorius gave a little huff, more amused than anything, then pulled out a key and undid the locks. After all, he was the best warrior in the legion and no sheep herder would be able to defeat him.

As the chains fell, they hovered a moment before clanging at Artorius’s feet. He couldn’t believe what he’d seen, but then as he glanced back at Myrddin, those blue eyes of his were fading gold.

He took a step back, worried. He’d heard about sorcerers, that they could take over your mind, that they could make you dance a jig or fall in love.

But Myrddin still smelled of sheep dung and he didn’t send any magic toward Artorius. He seemed harmless and rather ridiculous.

“Now, I’ve entrails to look at. You can either bring me a sheep or you could volunteer yourself. Doesn’t matter to me.” Myrddin took off his soiled tunic, throwing it at Artorius’s feet, then he stood up, naked except for a pair of sandals, putting hands on pale hips, glaring at him. “And I need a bath since your legionaries seemed to enjoy throwing me into whatever dung heap they could find, and new clothes, too.”

When Artorius just stood there, taking everything in - the man was well-endowed enough for a pleasure house, Myrddin said, “Well, hurry up. I’ve not got all day.”

Artorius was speechless. But rather than clap the man back in irons, Artorius blinked, trying not to stare down at Myrddin’s very interesting cock, and said, “There is water and a basin over there.” He nodded toward the far end of the tent to a table piled high with food and drink. Then he turned away, finding one of his clean tunics at the end of his cot, and throwing it at the man. “And for Mithras’s sake, cover yourself.”  

There must have been something in Artorius’s voice. Instead of arguing, Myrddin gazed at Artorius, taking in his short tunic and dusty sandals, then stared at his mouth a long long moment before sending Artorius a decadent smile.

“My thanks, Tribune. The road has been a long and dusty one. And lonely, too.” He didn’t put the tunic on, though, just held it against his chest, leaving that glorious cock bare. As Artorius struggled not to look down, damn him, Myrddin’s smile got wider, and Artorius suddenly felt like as if he’d lost his footing, was being stalked by eyes flickering gold and blue. There were shivers going up and down his spine and embarrassingly, his cock started to twitch.  

It really had been too long.

Desperately trying to think of something off-putting, his uncle’s sour face or the midden at the edge of the camp, he didn’t say anything as Myrddin moved impossibly close, leaning in, whispering into Artorius’s ear. “I could use a hand.” He pulled back, gave Artorius another heated smile. “To wash my back.”

Shit.

Not wanting to appear too eager, Artorius stumbled away, backing into his cot and almost collapsing into it. But he managed to keep his footing. Clearing his throat, his voice hoarse with want, a traitor to his dignity, Artorius said, “I could arrange for a slave to take care of your needs. They are very well trained.”

“I will make due with my own hand.” Myrddin seemed to let go of whatever game they’d been playing. “If you could arrange for the sacrifice to be brought to the center of the camp, I will read the entrails as soon as the time is auspicious.”

Artorius breathed a sigh of relief. Myrddin was a distraction that he could lose himself in, wiry, with a decadent smile and long pale limbs, delicate fingers that seemed perfect for wrapping around a cock. That mouth, too.  And the man’s own cock, thick and long, that spoke of pleasures unimaginable. Artorius would be sore for a month if he let his desires rule him.

“I’ll arrange it. In the meantime, put some clothes on, damn you.”

Myrddin just laughed. “Of course, my lord.” But instead, as Artorius called for a slave to bring a sheep for slaughter, Myrddin moved to the basin, using water and a cloth to wash. Still naked. And yes, Myrddin’s backside was just as luscious as the rest of him. Artorius watched as droplets of water followed that enticing spine down, down, down, to rest just above the swell of Myrddin’s arse.

Finally, Myrddin was done. Rubbing at his chest, he turned back to Artorius. “The baths at Caerleon are worth visiting when next there. Hot water, cold, and massages to ease the spirit. Men to share stories with.”

Myrddin lifted up Artorius’s borrowed tunic, fingering the cloth, watching him as he did so. There was a half-smile on his face, smug, looking as if he could read the desire in Artorius’s eyes. “To share other things, too. I thank you for the tunic. Wearing something of yours… will be an honour.”

The constant change in subject and the innuendo underneath it all was making Artorius’s head spin. And his cock hardened just a little more at the thought of Myrddin sheathed in something of his.

He needed to put a stop to this, before it was too late and he shoved his cock into Myrddin’s hopefully willing mouth.

Trying not to choke on his tongue, Artorius said, “We will arrange for appropriate garments tomorrow.” Myrddin just nodded. “And a tent for tonight as well.”

Raising one eyebrow, Myrddin said, “So I will not remain here? You asked for my services, after all.”

Artorius sputtered, “I need a soothsayer, not a… a bedwarmer.”

“And yet you wanted to whore me out just a few moments ago. Said I was to warm your bed.” Myrddin looked amused, as if satisfied that he was rubbing what Artorius said in his face.

“That was before I knew who you were. You could have been a spy or enemy of Rome. It was meant to intimidate.” Straightening, Artorius scowled. “I wouldn’t have forced you. I’ve more honour than that.” Then frustrated, he waved one hand toward Myrddin, gesturing up and down to indicate Myrddin’s continued nakedness. “And could you please put something on!”  

Instead, Myrddin tossed the tunic onto Artorius’s cot, and with a gesture toward the tent’s flap, the room was suddenly darker, more intimate. Magic, the man had magic, and Artorius was both horrified and excited beyond all measure.

With every step Myrddin took toward him, all pale skin and invitation, with every word Myrddin whispered into the air, it was getting harder for Artorius to keep his equilibrium.

“I’d heard that the Tribune of the legion here hadn’t had any in months. After all, a leader needs a day of pleasure, once in a while. Don’t you think…, _Tribune_?”

Artorius could have protested, could have asked what solder in his command was telling filthy lies, but as Myrddin stood there, a hairs-breadth between them, Artorius couldn’t think of anything but crossing that gap, and thrusting tongue or cock into that willing mouth.

There was a sudden rustle at the tent’s entrance and a voice outside asking what to do about the sheep.

Silent, Myrddin smiled that damnable half-smile and waited.

Breathing out, Artorius grabbed Myrddin’s neck, drew him close, and gave him a hard kiss, then shoved him back onto the cot. Hurrying to the opening, he pulled it open, telling the centurion that he was dismissed, that Artorius was not to be disturbed until morning.

Then stalking back to the cot, watching Myrddin arrange himself, open legs, that gorgeous cock full and inviting, Artorius knew he’d made the right decision.

Things were looking up in Britannia.

And entrails could wait for another day. 

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes: I know almost nothing of Roman England so all mistakes are mine. Also sooo much innuendo.   
> Disclaimer: Merlin characters are the property of Shine and BBC. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.


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